Melvin set down his glass, indifferent. He was always kind and friendly with his colleagues. "I heard that Professor Snape gave a first-year Potions introductory class this afternoon. Gryffindor and Slytherin took the class together. How was it?"
"Nothing special. This is the worst first-year class ever."
Snape looked up coldly, his tone icy. "I didn't expect them to truly understand the wonders of Potions, but their performance was really disappointing. The vast majority of first-year students do not understand the wonderful magic of the boiling cauldron, nor the charm of those magical liquids. Many don't even believe Potions is magic. They are only interested in those wand-waving nonsense things."
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick's smiles froze.
Transfiguration and Charms were the subjects he referred to as wand nonsense.
They exchanged a look, both with expressions of frustration. They knew Snape's words were simply a matter of personality and meant nothing personally against them, yet they still felt inexplicably offended.
"Worse than previous years..."
Melvin didn't listen to the details of their murmurs and continued the conversation. "To deepen my understanding of the British magical world, I've read some materials and noticed that some students in this class already had established reputations before arriving, like the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter of Gryffindor, and the distinguished pure-blood, Draco Malfoy of Slytherin. I thought they had a lot of talent."
Dumbledore, savoring the sweet cream with a silver spoon, listened attentively to the conversation, without participating.
"Fame isn't everything,"
Snape mocked, with obvious sarcasm. "That Potter is a fool with only fame. He is useless and arrogant. He doesn't even know how to answer the most basic Potions questions, and when criticized, he tries to answer back. In a way, he's even worse than Granger, born of muggles." Dumbledore frowned slightly, his gaze fixed on Harry,
sitting at the Gryffindor table, with a deep expression.
"There must be some misunderstanding. Although Potter is often late to class, his in-class performance is quite good. He's an honest and kind child."
"Yes, yes."
Several teachers listening offered some excuses, and Dumbledore's expression softened again, but unfortunately, Snape didn't hear.
"What about that Draco Malfoy? From what I understand, the Malfoy family is very influential here, with abundant financial resources, generous and enthusiastic. Every year, they donate to institutions like the Ministry of Magic, St. Mungo's Hospital, and the Quidditch Competition Committee, and have befriended many influential people. As a result, this little Mr. Malfoy has attracted attention and built some reputation even before entering school."
"I barely passed..." said Snape indifferently.
"Are the questions I ask too difficult, Professor?"
"They are basic textbook knowledge."
Snape looked at him, confused, not understanding why this man named Lewynter was so concerned about first-year students. Irritated, he raised his voice slightly: "Potter knows nothing about bezoars, aconite, not even what the powdered Narcissus root and an absinthe infusion produce!"
The students sat very close to the Slytherin table. Hearing their Head of House's voice, they were silent for a few seconds, then began to quietly move away.
Draco Malfoy was among them. His gaze swept the room, and instead of leaving, he approached, eager to hear more criticism of Potter from the professor.
Less than a week after the semester began, he and the boy who had once saved him had already become rivals.
"Powdered Narcissus root and absinthe infusion is the Living Hell Potion," Melvin replied quietly, a faint smile in his voice. "Also known as the Water of Life and Death, it is a powerful sleeping potion."
Dumbledore took a bite of his cake and observed the smile on his face, which seemed profound.
"Professor Lewyn is right. He's far better than this group of novices," said Snape sarcastically.
"My grades in Potions were average, but I'm very interested in legends and stories. I've read many rumors and learned interesting things about potions."
Snape frowned at Melvin's slow words, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
"The narcissus is also known as the golden spike. In the eyes of Greek poets, its bare stems, unpleasant smell, and slightly dark purple flowers in winter evoke pale death and the darkness of the underworld. In muggle stories about the dead, Hades, the god of the underworld, places the souls of the deceased in fields covered with narcissus,"
explained Melvin. "On stage, the pale, grayish color of the golden spikes perfectly evokes the emptiness and sorrow of the underworld. Homer's Odyssey mentions that the fields of golden spikes house the souls of heroes fallen in the Trojan War."
The other teachers listened fascinated, while Snape felt subtle irritation growing inside him.
One of the symbolisms of the narcissus is related to death, and absinthe, with its distinct bitterness, is often associated with pain, sorrow, and deep regret. "Regret cannot bring peace of mind, so one must drink the Water of Death." Hence the name of the Living Hell Potion.
Dumbledore's silver spoon stopped at the edge of the porcelain plate, and a look of nostalgia appeared in his eyes.
The other teachers also slowed their eating, appreciating the name of this potion.
There is another story about narcissus in Greek mythology. The beautiful boy Narcissus saw his reflection in water one day, but did not know it was himself. He fell in love with it and could not resist. Eventually, one day he stepped into the water for pleasure and drowned. After his death, he became a narcissus. Later, muggle psychologists called this self-love disease narcissism or Narcissus disease."
..."
Snape grew impatient: "What do you mean?"
"Psychology is a very important field in muggle science. From the perspective of psychologists, a person's language and behavior in daily life reflect their internal emotions or subconscious."
Melvin paused and said slowly: "So I wonder if choosing the Living Hell Potion as a research question expresses Professor Snape's internal emotions, or some subconscious that he can barely perceive."
"Absurd..."
The pair of green eyes appeared in his mind. Although Snape angrily denied it, his heart was inevitably agitated, even slightly panicked.
The eyes of those aware of the situation shone, looking at Snape and Melvin thoughtfully.
Is this muggle knowledge?
To some extent, it is even scarier than Legilimency.
"Although it's a bit presumptuous, I still want to share my guess..."
Snape's pupils shrank, and he was about to scold and stop him.
Dumbledore also seemed reluctant, about to speak to stop him.
Just as the atmosphere tensed, Melvin suddenly spoke faster: "As far as I know, Draco Malfoy's mother, Narcissa Malfoy, her name comes from the story of the narcissus. If I'm not mistaken, Professor Snape, you once admired Draco's mother, so you used the Living Hell Potion to express your youthful remorse."
The guests of honor were stunned.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick widened their eyes in surprise.
Dumbledore opened his mouth but said nothing.
Even Professor Quirrell, in a corner, was stunned, putting ribs in his mouth, forgetting to chew.
"You admired Narcissa..."
Snape's mind seemed bombarded by something, a muggle psychology bombardment, and he didn't react for a while.
"Bang!"
The metal cutlery fell from his hand, clanging against the edge of the porcelain plate.
The main table teachers looked toward the sound and saw Draco Malfoy, standing in front of the Slytherin table, leap from his bench and run toward the door.
Draco barely had time to wipe his mouth, ignoring the grease in his platinum hair. Careless of table manners, his short legs headed straight for the Slytherin Common Room.
"Ha... ha..."
No wonder his mother had specifically told him before the start of the year that his Head of House would watch him.
Professor Snape clearly favored him. Granger was so intelligent and a great potion maker, yet he was the only one the professor praised that afternoon.
No wonder... no wonder!
He had to tell his father immediately.
While the teachers watched the first-year student leave, they turned to Snape, sensing something was off, and looked at Melvin beside him, unable to help it.
"Melvin Levent!"
Snape's forehead tensed with anger, his long-cold face flushed, and his lips moved. "I was only testing Potter's potion fundamentals!"
"I believe you, Professor."
Melvin nodded seriously. "I understand that psychology is an empirical discipline and that previous inferences are merely speculation."
"You... you!"
Snape was speechless and turned to look at the other professors.
The others nodded in turn but avoided his gaze.
Dumbledore lowered his head, concentrating on scraping crumbs from his plate. Only a few leftovers remained, less than half a spoonful, invisible without careful observation.
Professor Flitwick, relying on his short stature, ducked under the table, shoulders rising and falling uncontrollably.
Professor Sprout gently elbowed him, reminding him not to go too far; they had been colleagues for over a decade.
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, trying to maintain a serious expression. If anyone noticed the slight smirk at the corner of her mouth...
It wasn't that they didn't believe Snape. After all, several teachers had already taught at Hogwarts when Snape studied there and knew the events of that time.
But Melvin's speculations, coming from the usually surly Snape, were hard to suppress laughter at.
Snape's breathing seemed even heavier, and he glared at Melvin multiple times. Given the speed of the owl messenger, he couldn't continue arguing, so he rolled up his sleeves and stormed out.
The main table fell silent, all making eye contact.
Is this muggle psychology?
It's even scarier than the Dark Arts of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
**Mel
vin** took a sip of wine and said indifferently, "It just occurred to me that the powdered asphodel root from the Dead Hell is not narcissus, but a type of lily."
Dumbledore lowered his blue gaze in silence for a moment.
...
It was late at night, the lights out. Melvin climbed the stairs to the second floor of Hogwarts Castle.
After a week of familiarization, he had explored almost every tower of the castle, mastering the stair and door patterns perfectly. Only a few rooms remained unexplored: the Headmaster's Office, the restricted corridor on the fourth floor, and the Room of Requirement on the eighth.
It wasn't that he didn't know where they were or how to open them, but he wasn't in a hurry and wanted to leave some suspense.
Today he had explored the North Tower, visited the Divination classroom and Professor Trelawney's office, and on the way encountered the portrait of Sir Cadogan, a man of great chivalry, and had a very pleasant conversation.
Melvin paused on the landing, looking around cautiously. He thought he heard a muffled sob. "Are there crying lost souls wandering the castle at night? Headmaster Dumbledore never said anything..."
Melvin carefully examined the area and followed the sound of the sobs. A few minutes later, he saw a chubby, fair-skinned boy in the corner of the corridor.
The term "fair and tender" is an objective description. His skin had recently suffered corrosion and damage but had regenerated with potions, leaving it fresh and tender, with a pinkish tint.
"Neville Longbottom?" Melvin shouted.
From his position on the floor, Neville lifted his head sadly, sobbing: "Professor... Professor. What are you doing hiding here?"
Neville held a crystal ball glowing red and vaguely explained: "I'm looking for my list of passwords. It hasn't been here since I woke up in the infirmary."
"How did you get into the infirmary?"
"Seamus took me there."
"...How did you get hurt?"
"You dropped a cauldron in Potions class this afternoon."
...
Melvin took several minutes to understand what had happened.
The Gryffindor Common Room required a password to enter, and the boy, who always had a poor memory, couldn't remember the frequently changing passwords, so he wrote them on a scroll.
In the afternoon, in Potions class, he learned to prepare a potion to cure boils. He didn't remember the steps correctly and prepared a corrosive and harmful potion. Unfortunately, he spilled the cauldron over himself, corroding his skin and clothes. After a simple treatment from Snape, he was taken to the school infirmary, took the medicine given by Madam Pomfrey, and fell asleep.
When he woke, it was already night. He searched his pocket again, but the password list was gone. He could only wander the castle looking for it. He didn't find it, but the professor did.
Melvin first observed Neville's condition. His physical wounds had healed, but his mental state wasn't very good. He felt slightly relieved.
Then he stared at the memory ball in his hand for a while. It was a small crystal ball. The red mist inside swirled and gave him a headache.
It should have been the Head of House's matter, so how could he, an elective professor, have found it?